


Death of a Bachelor

by ThePinkFizz



Series: Shagging Sherlock Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Experienced John, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Sherlock's First Time, Situational Humiliation, Smut, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9703985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePinkFizz/pseuds/ThePinkFizz
Summary: Sherlock’s been having these unexplainable…feelings lately after accidently walking in on John in the shower one day. He’s far too embarrassed to ask John, so he turns to the internet. What he discovers is shocking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm back with another Johnlock :) I've been in a kind of writing funk lately, so I apologize for my absence. But anywho, I saw the tag "virgin Sherlock" and knew I just *had* to write something for that, haha! So, I really hope you guys enjoy this story. Johnlock was one of my first (and favourite) ships, so I'm always nervous to write it for fear of messing up. But, here's to not messing up! As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated :D *disclaimer* I do not own Sherlock, or any rights to it. (If I did, I wouldn't be writing Johnlock on the internet, teehee!) <3 PF

It had all started one day when he walked into the bathroom not knowing John was inside. He had been tired, up the previous night working on a case. He hadn’t _meant_ to walk in on John, it just _happened._

Well, John wasn’t the only one surprised. He had shouted a string of curses at Sherlock, but the detective had just stood, planted, eyes transfixed on the doctor. John always wore those baggy sweaters, so, naturally, Sherlock never realized that the other man was so… _fit._

John may have been stout, but he was covered in taut muscles, especially on his stomach where the droplets of water rolled down between the defined abdominal muscles. Sherlock couldn’t help it, he was… _curious._ His eyes had trailed down and down, skimming past the patch of wiry blond hair just below John’s navel.

John’s eyes seemed to be following the detective’s as well, for he jumped out of the shower and shoved Sherlock clean out of the bathroom. The detective had just stood there, the closed door inches away from his nose. Something felt… _strange_ inside of him.

His cheeks felt warm, his body felt _tingly._ There was this tight coil that had slowly started settling in the pit of his gut like a Burmese python. He placed his hand over the pain, frowning. Perhaps he was ill. Upon inspection in the semi-luminescent surface of the toaster, Sherlock discovered that his cheeks were singed pink, his normal pallor offset by bright patches of the rosy colour.

He frowned again. If he was ill, maybe he should check his temperature. But then again, the thermometer was in the bathroom, and he’d rather not open the door again for fear of what John might do to him.

Sherlock gulped, groaning slightly when the pain in his gut tightened again. Could it have been something he had eaten? It was only when he thought about John—

Sherlock’s knees knocked together as the pain doubled back with twice the intensity. The detective gripped the edge of the counter tightly, grimacing. Was _John_ the source of this problem?

_No. Surely not._

There was this odd feeling he now suddenly had. His icy eyes slowly glanced down. The long, pale fingers of his left hand slowly trailed down over his slacks. He retracted his hand some, surprised when he felt a hard, defined strain underneath his touch. He swallowed.

Glancing towards the bathroom door, Sherlock took long, purposeful strides into the lounge and opened John’s laptop. If he had an _erection_ he needed to find out why.

Sherlock was typing away at the keys, his eyes narrowed as they scoured the web page. He was aware of how anatomy and physiology worked, he just wasn’t sure _why_ it was happening. His mind wandered back to the image of John—skin flushed and dripping wet, his hair clinging to his forehead, mouth agape, blue eyes trained right on Sherlock.

The coil tightened tremendously hard this time and Sherlock moaned aloud, his fingers curling into his palm on the desktop.

He swallowed thickly, glancing down. His curious fingers trailed down slowly, prodding slightly at the hard line in his trousers. The action elicited a strange response. Sherlock hissed through his teeth, feeling a pulse, almost like a heartbeat, in the inseam of his groin.

Sherlock breathed out. He had never done _this_ before. He wasn’t… _curious_ as a teenager, like all the other boys his age. He wasn’t even sure about _Mycroft._ There had never been any _discussion_ between them about the matter.

Sherlock’s eyes watched his fingers curiously as if they weren’t his own. His tongue slowly peeked out between his upper and lower lips. The fingers of his hand trembled as he slowly loosened his belt. He released the closure on his trousers, reaching his fingers inside his boxers.

The contact of his fingertips against his erection caused him to hiss once more, his eyes snapping shut. This was sort of an… _experiment_ for Sherlock.

That was when he heard the door to the bathroom open and he darted out of the chair into his bedroom before John could figure out what he was doing.

Sherlock leaned back against the door to his room, his chest heaving. He swallowed again, his legs shaky as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He pushed his trousers out of the way some, using one hand to push down at his boxers and the other to support his erection as it sprang free, coiling up towards his belly.

Sherlock was fascinated. His body had never elicited a response such as this before. His free hand was drawn to his mouth as he curiously examined his swollen cock. He cautiously brushed his fingers over the shaft, recoiling at the feeling.

His thumb swiped at the head, and he brought his thumb and forefinger up close to his eye to examine the semi-translucent fluid that was strung between them.

He was perplexed. He turned his hand and it was like a spasm wracked his entire body. He cried out. There was a noise on the other side of his door.

_“Sherlock? Are you ok?”_

The detective hissed a breath in through his teeth.

“F-fine! I’m fine!”

The pain in his gut was so strong now, he didn’t think that he’d be able to stand back up. He closed his eyes, hoping that maybe entering his mind palace would quell the pain. But all he could see were images of John. Sherlock felt his cock twitch within his hand.

He breathed out. So… _did_ John have something to do with this? He had only gotten an erection because his body was priming itself for sexual intercourse. But…did that mean…he wanted to _fornicate_ with _John?_

Sherlock shook his head, disheveling several of his curls, some of which had adhered themselves to his forehead with sweat.

He…he didn’t know what he was doing. And that embarrassed him. He was the great detective, Sherlock Holmes. He knew _everything._

Sherlock decided maybe he should do some _consulting_ of his own. He painstakingly tucked his hard dick back into his boxers and did up his trousers.

He cracked the door to his bedroom open, the neglected hinges creaking slightly. Sherlock swallowed as he stepped into the little corridor and made his way back into the heart of the flat.

John was milling about, going through some unopened mail. Sherlock stood behind him, fumbling with his hands. The digits of his left hand were still sticky. He pushed the thought aside.

“Um, John?”

His voice had a slight tremor.

_“Hmm?”_

The doctor was clearly preoccupied.

“Uh,”

Sherlock struggled to find the words. It wasn’t very often that the great detective was at a loss for words.

“John…”

He wrung his hands.

“If one were to have a problem of a personal sort…a _male_ problem…h-how would they…go about correcting it?”

John’s brows knitted together as he turned, completely lost in the sentence that Sherlock had just attempted to put together. The detective scratched the back of his neck, looking off to the side.

“O-of course this is all hypothetical….for a friend…”

_“Of course…”_

John started dubiously.

_“But then again you don’t have any friends...other than me…so…”_

Sherlock stood, fidgeting.

_“Are you alright? You look a bit peaky.”_

John walked forward, reaching out to place his palm against Sherlock’s forehead when the detective quickly recoiled. In fact, Sherlock recoiled so quickly and stumbled over some rubbish on the floor he fell into his chair.

John stood, agape. His eyes trailed over Sherlock, noting his complexion, his agitation, and the not-so-subtle strain in his slacks.

John crossed his arms over his chest.

_“Sherlock, does this have anything to do with the fact that you have a massive boner?”_

Sherlock shuffled in his chair, his cheeks burning. He moved to get up.

“Never mind, this was a mistake. I should never have asked your advice.”

_“Wait.”_

John grabbed onto his arm.

_“You mean you’ve never, y’know, before?”_

Sherlock looked blankly at John.

_“Wow. Never wanked off before. Well, look who I’m talking to.”_

Somehow John could tell he had humiliated Sherlock even further.

_“I’m sorry. It’s fine, really.”_

Sherlock made a little moaning noise, closing his eyes.

“It hurts…”

He started.

_“Here.”_

John said, guiding Sherlock to his black chair. He sat the detective down, kneeling in front of him. Sherlock watched the doctor, curious again.

John undid Sherlock’s trousers and loosed his erection. He watched it bob for a moment up against the flat of Sherlock’s stomach.

John breathed out, reaching out his hand. Sherlock shuddered when he felt John’s calloused fingers touch him.

_“Now, everybody has their own preference, what they like,”_

He started a slow rhythm, sliding his hand up and down.

_“But you can start slow, and pick up the pace if you like.”_

He quickened his tugs momentarily, Sherlock gasping out.

“John…”

The detective groaned, musing up his curls.

John teased his thumb over the reddened head of Sherlock’s cock, swiping it over the slit.

_“Everybody has a spot they like the most.”_

John used his forefinger and thumb to gently prod the crown. Sherlock moaned.

John’s eyes seemed to glimmer mischievously for a moment as he twisted Sherlock’s dick to the side.

“JOHN!”

The detective’s entire body thrust forward. His breaths quickened, heart slamming against his chest.

John laughed a little.

_“Found it.”_

He licked his lips.

_“Sherlock, do you want me to give you hea-want me to make the pain stop?”_

“Uh-huh.”

Sherlock whimpered, nodding his mess of curls against the armchair.

John nestled himself down more, pushing at Sherlock’s thighs to offer him more space. He leaned forward, slowly wrapping his lips around just the head of Sherlock’s cock.

“Hngh…John…”

Sherlock fidgeted. John’s hand came up onto the top of the detective’s leg, rubbing little circles around and around.

He worked his mouth around the detective’s cock, teasing the underside with his tongue, taking more back at a time.

He only had about halfway back, sucking and bobbing when he felt Sherlock shudder.

“J-john…John…t-this feeling…I-I d-don’t understand…”

John pulled off, wiping at the strings of spittle clinging to his chin.

_“Here,”_

He said, taking Sherlock’s hand. He wrapped the detective’s long fingers around the engorged length.

_“Now tug.”_

He told Sherlock, flicking his wrist to the side.

Sherlock cried out as his orgasm ripped through his body and he was spilling over his fist. He slouched back into the armchair, trying to catch his breath.

“W-what just happened?”

John snickered, patting him on the shoulder.

_“And that’s only phase one.”_

“W-what’s phase two?”

_“I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”_

“John—”

The doctor turned. He looked at Sherlock’s sweaty, reddened face with curls clinging to it, expecting him to say something else.

“Delete your internet history. I beg of you.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
